Everybody loves pie. The very word pie feels good in your mouth.
My first memory of pie dates back to toddler-hood, when my family lived on a farm. I remember being in the kitchen watching my mother chop rhubarb for a pie. I was intrigued by the ruby red stalks she’d pulled from the garden, so as soon as she turned away, I climbed up on a chair and picked up the knife. When I made my first slice, I was disappointed to see the pale green interior of the stalk. Hoping for more redness with the next slice, I proceeded to chop. Indeed, I was rewarded with redness — lots of bloody redness — when I saw I’d cut my finger nearly down to the bone.
I don’t recall if we got around to actual pie-baking that day, but that was my introduction to the process. Curiously, it isn’t an entirely negative memory for me. Instructive, I’d say. And it certainly didn’t put me off pie, not even rhubarb pie.
This isn’t a good example of how to teach children to bake. My mother was never a wizard with a knife and sliced her own fingers with some regularity. It’s a good thing my father was a surgeon and always ready to patch us up. Nonetheless, don’t be deterred by my personal fiasco. Be careful, and carry on!
Once Upon A Pie 